Eveline Snow
by 11200345
Summary: Being a Fairy Godmother can be very complicated business. Agent Snow is sent to help the King of Brooklyn in his time of need.
1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a place that is much closer than one might think, lived a girl who had not yet had a true adventure. When she was little she did all the things a normal child would do: pick apples for homemade pies, have scavenger hunts, and go in search of missing treasure. Yet, there was always a yearning for something more. The intangible hole that lived deep inside of her ached to be filled, and try as she might nothing seemed to be quite the right size. Three weeks after her ninth birthday an unexpected caller came to her doorstep. This night, which started out not so different from any other night, ended with Eveline Snow packing her bags to start training at Fitzler's Fairy Godmother Academy, a coup for any nine year old. So, Evie said goodbye to her childhood home and went away to boarding school in hopes of starting a real adventure.

"Evie!" Evie looked around her quarters, her flight pack lying open on the bed, too distracted to focus on the voice sounding from behind her. She knew that she had just powdered some fairy dust last night, but seeing how last night had turned into early this morning when she finally went to sleep she couldn't quite remember where she put it. "Evie," the same voice sounded, Evie spun around to face the door. James leaned against the frame of the door his lanky physique made him seem almost disproportionate in the doorway—trapped in a world that was too small for him. In an academy filled with girls he was a rarity, and one of her closest friends.

On the fateful night ten years ago when Evie was first brought to Fitzler's Fairy Godmother Academy, she had seen it as the start of her greatest adventure. However, these expectations where cut rather short due to the fact that a childhood spent reading books and playing by oneself did not liken Eveline to her fellow trainees. So, being seen as strange and socially awkward by her peers, Evie's first few months were spent similarly to the past nine years: sitting quietly alone reading and waiting in anticipation. Exactly three months, six days, and approximately thirteen hours after arriving at the academy James had been brought through the front door. More appropriately he sauntered through it, because at the prime age of nine and three quarters James Eldrige was already a man who loved to be among the ladies, making a school specializing in the elite training of future fairy godmothers an excellent setting to pursue this interest. The girls did not quite feel the same way about James. Thusly, the two children standing on the social sidelines found each other, and had remained the closest of friends.

"Hey J," Evie turned back to her bed and began ripping through her drawers, "Sorry, I just can't find my effing fairy dust."

James smiled, totally unfazed by the flustered girl before him or the bra that flew past his head. Picking up a variety of clothes and books to make room for himself he collapsed onto her bed and pulled out a bottle of fine blue powder, "Here take some of mine." Slamming the side table drawer shut Evie gave him a rare smile, "Thanks J."

"Yes well, I'm professionally trained to save the day. Besides, I don't need it; I'm still on dream runs since Mistress Harper has decide to die before she gives me my wings."

Evie couldn't help but chuckle, James was a decent fairy, but he didn't take the job with the gravity that Mistress Harper did, and at last years Christmas party she had caught him doing drunken impressions of her turning pumpkins into carriages. It might have been a salvageable situation if her favorite pet cat hadn't been on the receiving end of James' magic and spent too weeks waiting for the botched spell to wear off. Harper had put James on dream runs to the under five demographic, insisting that if he choose to act like a child he could deliver dreams to them.

"James you're going to get your wings."

"Sure, when I'm three hundred! Then I'll finally be put into the children's division so I can grant ponies to children everywhere."

"Well, if you're going to act like a chil—" James cut Evie off with a playful shove before she could even finish. She bent down to pull on her boots, "Besides, by the time you're three hundred I'll be running the academy and you'll be living with a lovely troll somewhere. I'll have you over for birthdays and Christmas."

James huffed, "I'd be offended, but trolls are surprisingly loving creatures. I would be lucky to get one after years of your abuse."

Evie slipped the fairy dust into her pocket while sticking out her tongue. James mimicked the expression back to her, "So where are you off to tonight?"

"Oh the usual, quick stop with a princess in distress and then a new client actually. Some turn of the century type thing. I meant to read the file, but you know…I fell asleep and yeah…" she trailed off as she shrugged the backpack onto her shoulders, "It was a cliffnotes kinda thing."

James shook his head at his tiny friend, "I swear you're the worst fairy godmother ever." Evie just smiled at him and pushed a piece of dirty blonde hair out of her face, "You're probably right. Want to walk me to the launch?"

Her friend clutched a tan hand over his heart, " I caaaan't! It's too depressing." Laughing, Evie yanked him off the bed with surprising force, "Ridiculous."

They walked together down the nearly empty stone hallway towards the launch pad. In the olden days, before the technological revolution, means of travel for fairy godmothers was left to unpredictable weather patterns and luck, but now all take offs and landings were cleared through the control tower. Evie strapped on her helmet and goggles. She waited to hear the familiar checklist from the control tower stream through her helmet.

"Area clear." Check.

"Wings ready." Evie unleashed her pink wings and fluttered them slightly, hovering off the ground and then returning to it, check. She pulled her goggles down from their helmet perch and adjusted them around her face. "Agent Snow you're cleared for departure." The steel double doors in front of Fairy Godmother Eveline Snow slid open. A mist of fairy dust began to stream down and she ran through it and into the starless night. "Agent Snow to control, I've cleared take off and am entering the third portal."

"Thank you Agent Snow, have a safe flight." With that Evie picked up speed and swan dived into what the untrained eye would see as just another piece of sky.

Spot Conlon couldn't hear himself think. He should know better to even try to think within the confines of the Brooklyn Newsboy Lodging House. He couldn't even breathe through the haze of cigarette smoke winding its way through the room and suffocating him. He felt panicked, trapped, and a little pissed off by the fact that he was feeling either of those, both of which were making him fidget uneasily within his chair, as well as tampering with the confidence he had become legendary for. It was the end of February in Brooklyn, and although the promise of spring was fast approaching when you stepped outside your breath would still hang in the air. Still, he needed space and would brave the frigid night if it meant he could get some. Wrapping his coat around him, one that would not survive another winter, he quietly slid his way out the window and made a quick job of the climb to the roof. The lodging house sat in sight of the docks where Spot had become accustomed to calling his throne. He wanted her back. He couldn't stop thinking about her—her slightly crooked teeth, her dark hair, the way she got hiccups when she ate too fast, the freckles shaped like the big dipper on her upper right shoulder. Fuck. He was losing it. This was ridiculous. He's Spot Conlon, he could have any girl he wanted ... just not Rebecca. She said they were in different places, which he didn't really understand because even though a bridge divided Brooklyn and Manhattan, as far as he could see they were still in New York. She wouldn't even see him when he went by her family's apartment. He sister had said to stay away, Becca was moving on. But Meredith had never liked Spot to begin with, so what did she know about the girl who was shaping up to be _the one_.

He leaned against the rail of the roof and stared out past the streets of Brooklyn, roads he knew as well as his social standing within them, and onto the watery banks and into an uncertain distance. He tried to calculate the odds of getting Rebecca to come back to him.

"Spot Conlon? I mean do I have that right? Is it really Spot?"

Spot sharply turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, a female voice at that, wondering exactly how long someone had been witnessing his rooftop ponderings. Before him stood the most peculiar girl he had ever seen. Blonder hair framed an impish face. She was incredibly pale, but not in the sense that she was an invalid of some kind, it was simply her complexion. Stranger still she wore tight black pants into boots of some sort and a long sleeved black shirt and jacket. No words came from Spot Conlon as more than anything else he'd simply forgot that she'd asked him anything. She smiled at him with almost unattractively straight white teeth, "So, it is Spot then?"

The newsboy nodded his head curtly, "Lovely. Spot, I'm Eveline Snow. I'm your fairy godmother," and then Evie proceeded to stick out her hand.

**Author's Note:** The appropriate characters and themes belong to Disney.


	2. Chapter 2

As Eveline extend her hand to her newest client Spot Conolon was reaching into his pants to retrieve his tried and true slingshot. A marble was loaded and flew at Evie, connecting with her right temple.

"Ow! What the—!" Evie's hand shot up to her right temple as she grimaced in pain, "Seriously?"

Spot stood with another marble ready. His eye slanted in anger and mistrust, "Who are you?"

"I told you. My name is Eveline Snow, but you can call me Evie. I'm your fairy godmother. Apparently, you are in need of some assistance of the magical kind, meaning whatever is happening in your life right now is too much for you to handle and that's where I come in. I'm here to help you solve your problems…to get what you desire most."

"Bullshit," another marble flew at Evie, this time striking her in the chest.

"Really with the marbles!"

"I'm not stupid. I know the only fairytales that exist are in books. So I don't know what game you're playing or why you're here, but I don't have the patience to stand here and find out."

Evie reached into her back pocket grabbing a vial of fairy dust and broke it at Spot's feet, a slivery cloud engulfing him, "Then sit down."

A feeling of calm came over Spot, as if he had sunk into a hot bath. Eveline smiled, "Spot, I promise, I'm your fairy godmother." Spot sunk against the ledge of the roof, "Okay. Explain."

"The world you live in is not the only one. There are thousands of others. In the olden days fairy godmothers could only reach a certain number of these worlds, thusly we could only help a certain number of people. However, with continual advancements in magic and technology we've been able to branch out to a greater number of well, clientele."

"And me, I'm a client?"

"Yes, and I was assigned to help you…to watch over you."

Spot felt flashes of his life rush over him at this statement, and anger welled up within him, "Well where have you been then? I could of used you a long time ago."

"I'm sorry, I only recently was assigned to you. We're not like guardian angels we can't always be there, but we come when we can."

"I don't like it."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't like it," Spot stood up, his anger rising and the calm rapidly wearing off, "You can't just show up on _my_ roof, invading _my _life, with all your I'm here to help crap and expect me to be like okay strange dust blowing girl I've never met before left me tell you all of my problems. I don't need your help. I don't want your help, so piss off."

"I have a one hundred percent success rate." This was a slight exaggeration, but rounding up made it sound a bit more impressive.

"I have a one hundred percent I don't care rate, and trust me I'm at my limit. I came up here to get away from people. You, you're probably not even real, just the cold and too much to drink playing tricks on me."

"That…that doesn't even make sense."

"Leave," the young leader picked his slingshot off the ground and aimed it at Eveline, "It's not a request." Evie's mouth fell open. The training the academy put each fairy godmother through was extensive. Frequently trainees had to face disbelieving children, interference from adults, separation anxiety, there were even classes in adolescent and child psychology. However, Evie hadn't really faced these challenges yet in her fieldwork. More often than not her clientele had been hoping for some kind of divine intervention and they were happy to take whatever turned up. However, the figure in front of her didn't seem to meet the normal criteria. He seemed to be caught in between his youth and a grim, much darker, reality, one without any room for the likes of her. Spot's hands tightened the band of the slingshot, determination covering his face. And as he released his marble it shot through a cloud of fairy dust where Evie was just standing.

Eveline arrived back at the academy and brushed past the on duty flight control. She was supposed to check in with them, but the night had made her exhausted and she didn't want to face Mistress Harper or writing any reports until morning. She walked into her room and began to peel off her clothing, first her jacket, and sweater, then she slipped out of the boots and form fitting pants. There was a pile of would-be laundry in the corner and she pulled out a pair of shorts from the top of it and pulled them over her pale legs. She felt trapped in the room and wanted to find James. His room was only a few minutes away and she didn't even bother finding slippers before she slipping through the hallways.

James never bothered locking his door anymore. Evie tended to be the only one to come through it, and since his third month of academy she had developed a penchant for spending the night. She had a history of nightmares, and rather than drug herself with fairy dust each night she preferred to curl up next to James.

"J," Evie whispered as she pushed open the door to reveal the sleeping form of her best friend. He let out muffled snores from his somewhat larger nose, broken twice before, and didn't move. She crept towards his bed and shook him slightly, "Jaaaames." A sleepy eye fluttered and stared at her, "Hey Ev," James slurred, and slid over to make room. Evie eagerly climbed under the covers with him, pressing her body to his in hopes of more heat, "I had the worse night."

It seemed difficult for James to focus as he tried to push Evie's hair out of his face, "What happened love?"

"Stupid client shot me with marbles." A sleepy smirk flowed over James' face, "Marbles? Really? I sort of figured you were able to handle things like that." Evie's elbow jutted backwards into his side, "Of course I can, I just…" she trailed off, "He didn't believe me, and he seemed to need help, so I don't know…" James wrapped her up in a bear hug, "Aw don't worry Ev, you always get the target."

"Yes well the target never struck back before."

"It's good for yah," he murmured, "I thought you were losing your edge."

"Not possible," Evie responded eyes still open. James yawned into the back of her head, "Sleepy time Evie. I promise it'll work out, better in the day light and all that." Eveline curled her hand inside of his, "Night J," she whispered still staring in the darkness looking for something.

Spot felt himself waking up, but buried his head into his pillow willing himself to go back to sleep. Years of waking up before dawn for the morning addition and the ever present need for money wouldn't let him fall back asleep. His head hummed from the night before and the knowledge that he drank a bit too much for his own good. Anytime a man conjures up rooftop illusions means he should slow down, even if he's the king of Brooklyn. That title seemed less than appealing today. The past few days had brought cold winds in over the harbor, and the air seemed to bite even more in the morning. He quickly got dressed and slid his cane through his belt loops. The other boys were just starting to wake up as he left the lodging house, but quiet moments for Spot were so few that he would spare the extra penny or two on an early cup of coffee and a chance to be alone. He liked being alone more and more lately. He felt older, like his shoes or shirt, or really anything he owned: worn down, over washed, faded, and with holes. Every day seemed to tell him he needed to find something new, a new job, a new place to sleep…something. And then there was Rebecca. He turned the corner towards the distribution office. He knew this building better than any building in the city, just like he new the smell of paper or how to tell lie. What would he do outside of this building? Sometimes, when Spot thought really hard about it, he felt like he'd built his whole life around being a newsboy without ever building a future. Spot loved the now, he loved fighting for the best corner, and having a pint, and poker, and cigarettes, and the power. But he wasn't like Jack or David, he never saw the future. He sunk down onto the steps of the distribution center, and the thing about it was things were changing. There was talk of labor laws for kids and education requirements.

Charles Brace opened the distribution window with a hello to Spot. He'd been working the Brooklyn distribution center for as long as Spot could remember. The boys had taken to calling him Army, a nickname based on his lack of a left arm. He had lost it in an accident at the docks, and was down on his luck for sometime until he had pulled a few strings for the distribution job.

"Morning Army," Spot leaned along the wooden frame of the building, "Good headline today?" Charles shrugged, "I don't read 'em Spot, and frankly I don't give two shits what the newspaper has to say about today." Spot laughed, he liked the gruffness of Army; he was better than that ass-kisser Weasel that Jacky dealt with. Spot hated bullshit, and the smell of the Brooklyn sewer, and the fact that his socks got wet through his shoes, and well he seemed to hate a lot more things than he liked these days. Boys had been filling up the distribution center, shoving each other, making bets, splitting breakfast. Some of the faces Spot didn't even recognize, but they look around eleven or twelve. "Just a hundred today," he pushed the sixty cents across the barrier separating the newsboys from the honest workers—well, a bit more honest. Army swung the stack of papers down on the counter with his good arm and pushed them towards Spot. 'TEMPERATURES TO REACH RECORD COLD' stretched across the headline. Fucking shit, thought Spot as he tipped his hat to Army and strolled down the steps, papers on his shoulders. Just fucking shit.


	3. Chapter 3

_A fairy godmother must act with poise, grace, and propriety at all times. Fairy Godmothers do not act as friends or confidants; rather one must mentor and guide a client while remaining professional in all situations, even under duress._

_An excerpt from the Fairy Godmother Handbook_

Mistress Harper had a very firm belief about fairy godmothers. She constantly asserted that they were a reminder to the world that one could not succeed without the proper connections. Her gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun, which perched a top of her head. At first glance her features were so refines and dainty she seemed to pose no threat whatsoever. However, her eyes could turn an icy gaze upon you at any minute when she believed your conduct to be unsuitable for a fairy godmother. Seeing how she believed most conduct to be unsuitable over the years her face had developed a constantly pinched look as if she always smelled something unpleasant.

Eveline squirmed in the overstuffed wingback chair in her office. She was waiting for Mistress Harper to enter and wanted to find a comfortable position before hand. The door swung open and was closed efficiently behind the miniature woman, who circled around to the other side of the desk.

"Ms. Snow," Evie stared at the file perched onto of the desk with her name across it in elaborate calligraphy, "Yes Mistress?"

"I've been reviewing your file." A well-shaped periwinkle fingernail tapped down on the manila envelope in front of her multiple times.

"You have an excellent success rate," Mistress Harper sat down at her desk and carefully opened her tortoise shell reading glasses and perched them on her slightly upturned nose. "However, I wish to discuss your…approach. Your methods, while somewhat effective," she emitted a slight sniff of disproval at her statement, "are completely unorthodox."

Eveline felt a tiny ball of anger forming within her and clenched her teeth; everyone knew Harper's methods were straight from the dark ages, just like her. "With all due respect Mistress I believe you'll find several glowing recommendations in there from my clients who were exceedingly happy with the results of things. I believe there's even a princess who could not be more grateful for helping her to escape a rather awful impending marriage."

"Marriage is not awful Ms. Snow," another sniff emitted from Mistress Harper.

"No, of course not, but for her in that situation it was awful."

"Perhaps instead of staging an…" she paused as she read over the report, "elopement," her eyebrows rose, "with the stable boy," she said it as if it was a distasteful question she was being forced to ask, "you could have reminded the princess of her duty to her family and kingdom, and ensured that the impending marriage was one of mutual respect."

Eveline nodded, "That would have been a different approach, yes."

"That would have been the proper approach my dear." Eveline forced her face into a smile, "Of course."

"You know I took you in as a favor to your mother. She was a charge of mine, and when she came to ten years ago and beseeched me to take you in I felt it my duty as her godmother to help." Eveline nodded, she remembered that night all too well. Her family had an incredibly poor history of evil seeming to show up at inconvenient times. "I'm very grateful Mistress."

Mistress Harper removed her reading glasses and set them down on the large oak desk. She peered over at Eveline, seeming to evaluate her very existence, "Let's discuss last night, shall we? What exactly went wrong?"

"The client was simply resistant to help. I don't believe he wanted a fairy godmother."

"That's impossible, we have an excellent, top-notch staff, to screen potential clients for these things. I can assure you the client in question is without a doubt in need of assistance."

"He shot marbles at me Mistress."

"Hazards of field duty Ms. Snow. You can't believe you're the first to be hit by troll dung or have some singing princess set the animals of the forest on you."

"Of course not, but I don't think we should force help on people."

"Ms. Snow as fairy godmothers it is our duty to force help on people, as you so crassly put it, who are obviously incapable of helping themselves. Perhaps you're too overburdened in your caseload. This client, the marble shooter, he will become your primary focus. I'll disperse the rest of your cases to the twins."

Eveline gave a curt nod and stood in the office, "Yes Mistress." She was almost out the door when Mistress Harper's voice floated after, "Oh and Eveline, I'm certain you will handle this with the decorum and protocol expected of all our fairy godmothers." Evie gave another nod and closed the large wooden door behind her. She leaned against it for a moment, thinking, and let out a sigh. She hated the twins. Lucy and Lola always wore matching everything—matching hairstyles, clothes, and boyfriends. They decided that being twin fairy godmothers would give them a special edge, and refused to take any individual cases. Mistress Harper adored them. If this in itself had been all that was to them Eveline supposed that they would be more of an annoyance than anything else, but they always had a somewhat malicious intent to be as spiteful as possible to everyone around them. The fact that Harper was giving her cases to them meant that they would never let her hear the end of it. It also meant that whether this Conlon kid liked it or not he was about to be the center of her attention.

Spot leaned into the gutter to continue to hurl while Racetrack leaned on the wall beside him smoking a cigar. He was pretty certain there was no food left in him and that he was actually throwing up pieces of his stomach, at least that's what it felt like. He wiped the sweat from his face and stood up, still bent over and looking ill. Racetrack smiled at him, cigar still hanging from his mouth, "How's it rollin' there Spot?"

Spot mustered energy for a half hearted glare and managed to slur some words together, "I dunno Brooklyn?" An explosion of laughter left Race, hurting Spot's ears. Fucker. If he were remotely sober he would soak him.

"I don't think you're making it across the bridge tonight Spotty." Race slung an arm over his shoulder, "How about we settle for 'hattan tonight." Spot didn't respond, as he was busy dry heaving, bent halfway to the ground. Race half dragged, half carried, Spot through the streets of Manhattan to the newsboy lodging house. Kloppman had already turned in for the night and Race began to drag Spot up the stairs and to a vacant bed. He pushed the near catatonic Spot onto the thin mattress and went to the washroom to fetch him a bucket. Kloppman would kill them both if there was vomit all over the floor. When he returned Spot was already passed out, shoes on, and arm dangling off the side of the bed. Ractrack sunk down onto the bunk next to him and stared at the inebriated king of Brooklyn. Race had started out as a Brooklyn newsie himself before ending up in Manhattan. Him and Spot had always been friendly, as friendly as Spot would ever be with anyone, and he knew Spot was in a rough place right now. He had been for a while now, and mostly because that two-bit whore had played tricks with his mind. Race kicked of his shoes and snuffed out his cigar, sticking the rest of it into his vest pocket for tomorrow and made himself comfortable. This is why he didn't mess with dames.

Spot's eyes were blurry and his muscles ached. He ran his tongue over his teeth and felt as if something had died inside of his mouth. He gingerly tried to sit up placing both feet on the floor while the sounds of the Manhattan newsboys getting ready surrounded him. How did he end up in Manhattan? He could literally feel the blood pulsing in his forehead as he tried to think. He'd sold his papers yesterday and decided to cross the bridge for poker, and drinking there had definitely been drinking.

"Heya Spot," came Race's cheerful voice from above him. Spot looked up at the cheerful Italian and grunted. "How're you feeling?"

"Shit."

"I could see how puking in a gutter would get cha there. Luckily you've got me to drag you away from certain girl's tenements in the middle of the night before the police come and kick the crap outta you."

"Fuck. Becca?"

"No it was lovely really. You were drunk holding the bottle screaming up for her. Then you climbed up the fire escape, which by the way in your condition was very impressive, and start banging on he window while she's screaming at you to go away, and then her sister grabs a butcher knife and start waving it around and you break your bottle and they're threatening you. Anyways, yours truly here dragged your Brooklyn loving arse back down the fire escape, before we wandered through Hell's Kitchen at all hours of the night and you started puking your brains out. I'm saying a Hail Mary for you and the fact that we didn't get soaked by the Gophers."

"Fuck Race I'm sorry, just lay off though, my head's killing me."

"Yeah well it's my personal opinion that you deserve it, and for future notice if you want to ask a girl to marry you don't scream it at her in the middle of the night." Spot cringed and lay back down on the bed only to be jerked up again by Race, "And now you're going to get up and sell some papers. Christ I feel like your mudder, it's pathetic." Racetrack's trademark grin stretched across his face, he knew Spot get him back for this later, but he wasn't in a condition to do much of anything now. They walked together to the distribution center where the other newsies had congregated. Blink and Mush headed over to them, "Heya boys," greeted Race. Each had a stack of papers on their shoulders. Mush grinned, "Hey Race, Hey Spot heard you had a rough night."

Spot spit on the ground in front of him and looked up at Mush, "You want to have a rough day? Then keep your big mouth shut." Blink clapped Mush on the shoulder, "Come on let's sell, see you at Tibby's Race. See you Spot." Race looked up from where he'd been talking to Snipeshooter, "See yah," he turned to Spot, "Just kills you to be nice doesn't it. Hurts you all the way down in that special place where your heart oughta be?" Spot just smirked at him, "What heart?"

"Exactly, anyways Snipe hear says Jack and Davy already went to Denton's office, but they'll probably stop by Tibby's later if you wanted to see them." After the strike Denton had found positions for both David and Jack in the office at the _Sun_, they were doing good together, and it looked like Jack and Sarah were going to marry soon enough.

"Thanks Race, but I think I'm going back to Brooklyn, sell some papes along the way."

"Sure thing Spot, I'll be down there tomorrow, they've got some prize fights happening by the docks so I'll stop by."

Spot bought his hundred papers and walked towards the gate with Racetrack until they both turned to go separate ways. Spot turned back, "Hey Race," Race turned around to look at him, "Don't worry about it Spot," his giant grin on his face, "You just owe me one right?"

Spot nodded, "Right."

It took Spot some time to make it back to Brooklyn, but he sold his papes on the way. When he got to the lodging house at 7 Poplar Street he was simply happy to be home. The cool air had helped his hangover, but he knew sleeping it off would help it more. Mrs. Kirkby wasn't behind the desk, but was teaching the evening school classes, so Spot went to the kitchen for some food, and then upstairs. While most of the boys slept in bunk beds Spot had converted a small janitorial closet to be his bedroom, although it really only fit a bed. Still, it gave him some semblance of privacy. He opened the door with a sigh and found her sitting on his bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Eveline felt as if she'd been waiting in this tiny closet of bedroom for an eternity. She had wanted to get there before Spot, she thought this would give her an edge, but actually she was just bored. First she had simply waited politely. She knew that this was his personal space and could only imagine how offended she would be if someone went sorting through her things. About thirty minutes later she thought that fairy godmothers and their clients really didn't need any personal space between one another and began rifling through his things. She had found the normal, conventional, things one finds in a bedroom: spare shirts and underwear, although his were fairly tattered; there was a half empty bottle underneath the bed of what looked to be whiskey. The bed itself was nothing special, a single, small frame with a stained mattress and a woolen blanket and pillow. However, under the pillow was a bent picture of a man and a woman that looked like it'd been through its fair share of adventures. What surprised Evie the most was the copy of A Tale of Two Cities, its binding broken and pages dog-eared, showing repeated use. She didn't think of her client as much of a reader, much less a Dickens fan. She didn't open the book itself, but replaced both object underneath the pillow and perched on the bed drumming her fingers. He was taking forever to show up. Finally she whipped out her E.L.F (Entertainment and Location device for Fairies) and began playing Angry Birds.

When Spot saw her sitting on his bed aggressively tapping at some small object he wanted to turn around and walk right back out of the room, but she quickly looked up at him. "Hi Spot? Remember me? Evie?" Spot simply continued to stare at the impish blonde in front of him. "Please don't hit me with your slingshot." He hadn't even noticed his hand had been reaching for it out of habit. He pulled it out all the same and tossed it onto the bed next to her along with his jacket, "What exactly are you doing in my room, and I promise that if you've touched anything, or taken anything, or looked at anything I'll soak you, whether or not you're a girl."

He proceeded to take of his hat as well and hang it on one of the bedposts. Eveline would have stood and given him some room, except there wasn't much to give. "Well like I was saying the other night I'm your fairy godmother, and I've been sent to help you in your time of need, so what seems to be the problem?"

Spot leaned against the door and ran a hand through his hair pushing it back from his face. "You're really sold on this aren't you?"

"Sold on what?"

"The whole fairy godmother thing. I mean you really believe that you are. Even though you're not old or grandmotherly in the least. I mean I suppose I could see it in the face, because you look a bit pointy, but you're not even tiny," he held his hands about a foot apart to illustrate a point.

Eveline raised her eyebrows, "No I suppose if there'd been a height requirement I wouldn't have made the cut. But fairy godmothers aren't exactly known for being little people. I could see if I had said I was an elf or a gnome, but really you're just making generalizations."

Spot quirked an eyebrow at her, "Sorry for offending." She shrugged her shoulders, "I've been called worse things than too tall." This actually elicited a half laugh from her client, who then studied her once more. She felt a bit as if he was undressing her, or seeing if she was worth placing a bet on. From the way his eyes were looking at her it seemed as if he'd be betting against her rather than for her. Spot crossed his arms in front of his chest and continued to lean: the picture of nonchalance. "Well I guess you should prove it then. I mean you can't say you can spit and then not hock a loogie."

Eveline felt a knot of nervousness forming in her; she really wanted him to stop staring at her so intently. "Right, okay. Just let me think…well I could…I mean it's really the evil fairies that do the showier things we mostly undo or erm…okay I've got it. Are you hungry?" Spot nodded, "Sure."

Evie was thankful for even a minor affirmation on his part. She could see why the file she had on him used the descriptors 'notorious' and 'stubborn.' He didn't seem like the type of person you would want to come across in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Good, well I need something to enchant, like a cauldron, or a bag, or a carpet or something." Spot looked around the tiny closet and it's sparse objects, "How 'bout my hat."

"Great." Eveline could hear Mistress Harper's disapproving voice in her head, 'Don't just use magic willy-nilly it has a direct purpose and it is not a toy.' But Harper had told her that all of her attention needed to be on Spot Evie justified. She tapped her E.L.F to pull up her spell dictionary, glanced over it, and turned back to the hat. She had plucked it off of its resting place and set it down on the bed where she sat just a moment ago. She then sifted through her bag to pull out some shimmering gold fairy dust. Uncorking the vial she began to chant as she slowly sprinkled it around the inside of the hat. Spot subtly tried to lean closer to hear what she was saying, but her words were soft and mumbled. He stood upright again, not wanting to appear too interested in this absurd act she was insisting upon. Evie closed her eyes for just a moment, and then reopened them, turning her head to Spot, "Okay it's enchanted." She looked pointedly at the newsboy cap and then back to Spot.

"Oh good." There was a pause between them and Spot rolled his eyes, "Sooo what do I do?" Evie blushed a little bit, "Sorry I thought it was obvious. You reach in. Well, first you have to think about what you want, and then while you're thinking about it like a pie, or a cookie, or a cake—"

"Or anything besides a dessert," Spot quipped.

"And then you just reach in."

He decided to humor her. He knew that as soon as she failed, like she was guaranteed to do because she was clearly disturbed, that he could kick her out and go to sleep. He concentrated on an apple, a red one, and reached into his hat. He was surprised when he felt his hand sink down lower than the cap, it was as if he was grasping around in the dark for something and then he suddenly found it. He removed his hand with a shiny apple. "Shit."

"Yeah, I'm really good at that spell. My best friend, he's hungry all the time, but he misplaces everything so I've put it on pretty much everything he owns…socks, bags, boots, we actually tried it on a sink once because that wouldn't go anywhere, but all the food came out wet and soggy." Spot just continued to stare at the apple. Eveline nodded, "It's a lot to take in I know, if you're not used to it. Most clients are used to it. You're special you know, it's rare to have a client from a non-magical world that isn't a kid."

"Why's that?" Eveline sat down on the bed next to where Spot had sunk in disbelief. "Well kids are easy because they believe. They're just lying in their beds waiting for us to show up. But I mean you shot me with marbles, people either think we're crazy or they're crazy, so I guess that means you really need me."

"I'm sorry I shot you with marbles." Eveline scowled, but only slightly, "It's okay, Mistress Harper, she runs the fairy godmother academy, says that it's a hazard of field work. If I didn't want to risk getting shot with marbles I could do boring stuff like making potions or working the control tower." Spot had no idea what she was talking about, but he thought it was better to just let her ramble on.

It took Eveline a minute to realize that Spot wasn't listening to her at all, but was snapping his slingshot repeatedly. He then noticed the newfound silence and looked up at her with a cheeky grin, "So you're name is Effy?"

"Eveline actually, or Evie." He nodded, "So Godmother, how does this work? Can I give you a list of my demands?" He had sprawled himself across the bed and Evie tried to find herself space at the foot of it. He bent down for a second and scrambled about for a cigarette and a match, which he struck against the wall, lit the cigarette, shook out, and tossed on the ground.

"I'm not your genie in a bottle. We're not servants, we're guides, we're consults." Spot exhaled a long stream of smoke out through his nostrils reminding Evie of a dragon. "Spot you have to talk to me, you have to tell me your problems."

He stared at her like she had asked him to recite the Greek alphabet, and then he scoffed, "Shit. God I need a pint." He jumped up cigarette in his mouth and threw his jacket back on, grabbed his gold tip cane, and flung open the door. Evie jumped up after him only to have Spot give her a pointed look from head to toe, "No way."

"What?"

"I can't take you out like that, you're dressed like a crazy person."

"This is standard issue flight clothing!" He just shook his head repeatedly, "Nope. You'll have to change."

"Into what exactly?" Spot smirked, "Something feminine," and he outlined an hourglass shape in front of her. Eveline sighed and whipped out her E.L.F again searching for an idea of appropriate dress wear for the times. She then took a pinch of pink fairy dust and threw it over her head. As it rained down on top of her the black shirt and pants faded into a long sleeved whit top tucked into a floor length skirt and worn boots. She took another pinch and threw it around her shoulders resulting in a jacket. "Fair warning this is going to fade by midnight, it's just a camouflage spell not a proper enchantment." Spot didn't respond, but started walking so Evie quickly followed behind him. She had a strong suspicion that he would not feel the need to wait for her if she couldn't keep up.

He led her to a small pub that was filled to the brim with people and smoke. They seemed to recognize him here as several people clapped Spot on the back and shook his hand. Spot sat them at a vacant table in the corner and ordered himself some whiskey and her a pint. Evie scanned the room, there was music coming from a few musicians in a corner, cards on the many tables, and a few girls perched on men's laps practically procreating in front of her, "Are those hookers?" She thought they must be with they way one of them was bouncing up and down.

Spot turned his eyes towards the girl who was clearly inebriated, "Yeaaah, that's Veronica, she works this part of town."

"This place is like a brothel."

Spot raised his eyebrows at her and her eyes widened, "This place is a brothel?"

Their drinks arrived and Spot took a large sip of his, "Nah it's not a brothel, calm yourself. But we're at a bar, what kinda girls do you expect to be here, mayor's wives?" The aforementioned Veronica let out a hiccup and wrapped her harm around her seat cushion's shoulder. Eveline decided now would be a fine time to start on the drink Spot had pushed towards her. He was lounging in his chair surveying the pub as if it was his territory, "Yeah… I like to come here, the bar man's good people, spots me drinks sometimes."

"Is that why you're called Spot, because people spot you things?" Spot glared at her, "No. I'm not called charity case."

"Sorry, I was only curious. Well, why are you called Spot?"

"You talk too much. And you're nosy."

"You're not telling me anything! I'm supposed to be helping you." This wiry boy across from her was starting to shape up to be the most difficult client she'd ever worked with.

"Right well," he took a big gulp of the whiskey in front of him, hair of the dog he always said, "I guess there's a girl…"


	5. Chapter 5

Eveline knew that most stories began with a girl. In fact, if she were to tell her own story it would begin with a girl. The fact that the girl was herself didn't seem particularly relevant. So far, the boy in front of her seemed to have the emotional depth of one of the shot glasses lining the table. However, there was a whole class at the academy devoted to the subject of hidden depths within people. It was more of an extracurricular class in Evie's opinion, but all the same she could only assume this would be the moment Spot would reveal his true soul.

Spot glanced around the room. He was always weary of who was around, who was listening. Eveline stared back at him, giving him time, just waiting. Spot shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, as if he was trying to shake something off of him.

"So there was this girl, Rebecca. I met Becca 'cause my friend Tommy at the docks brother owns a deli in 'Hattan, and Becca used to come in there all the time buying meat and stuff for her mother. So, Tommy and I were in there one day because Christopher, that's Tommy's brother, lets us have a poker game in the back there with one of the butchers, his delivery boy, and Robert who works round the corner at Tibby's. I'd always see Becca coming in, she's a real nice girl you know, got these big…" Spot paused in advertently and glanced sheepishly up at Evie. He didn't tell too many stories and this one made him feel more uncomfortable than most. He coughed, clearing his throat, and continued,

"Curls and helps her mother out all the time, and I start to see her around. And we start having these really great, uh…conversations." Spot smiled at Evie cheekily and absentmindedly tapped his palm against the table, "She's always talking about these crazy ideas she has and things she wants to do. You know she wants to move out to California? Anyways, I start hanging around the shop more talking with her and finally we go out for dinner one night. That's how we start seeing each other. But here's the thing about Rebecca, she knows what she wants and she wants you to want the exact same thing, so I'd never hear the end of it. Every day it was like, 'Spot you can't sell papes forever, Spot when are you going to leave Brooklyn, when're we going to get married, I don't want to be twenty five and not have a kid.' And it just got to me you know?

So, I started to take some nights off from the relationship if you know what I mean? But Becca's sister has this real big mouth and apparently saw me at one of Medda's shows with this other girl and tells her sister. Becca and I got real into it over that and then she just left me; said she wasn't going to waste anymore of her time with some boy who couldn't commit to anything besides his dick. Which as you can see is just her having a stick up the arse about next to nothing. The thing is I really really love her, and I want to marry her and do all of that, but now she won't take me back."

Evie stared at Spot. Her mouth dropped open just a bit and it took her a minute to notice that she looked exactly like James' fish Pasqual when he died. "You mean to tell me that I was sent to be your fairy godmother so I could help you rekindle a seriously flawed romance with a girl you've been screwing around on? And you want to marry her? Seriously?"

"I wanted to see what else was out there," Spot sputtered defensively.

"This is not what fairy godmothers do! That's like helping you take a long walk off a short pier. We're not supposed to fuck your life up further."

"Watch yourself girl. I don't take kindly to the claims you're starting to make," His voice took on an icy tone Evie hadn't expected and she withdrew some from him. As if sensing her discomfort Spot pulled back as well, giving her a compensatory smile, "Besides, you're missing the point. It made me realize I love her. If I hadn't seen all those other girls, if I hadn't kissed them and whatever whatever." Evie giggled a bit at his illusions.

"Oi, yeah, pardon me I don't like using terms in front of a lady," he continued waving his hand out, "Well, I wouldn't have known for sure that she was the one."

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Yeah well, clearly you don't listen to the things that come outta your mouth."

Evie exhaled slowly. She repeated the mantra Mistress had given her: _people skills, people skills, people skills. _"Okay. Maybe I'm just misunderstanding."

Spot snorted at her, "Clearly," his eyes were antsy and kept dancing across the room looking for someone or something.

"Look, we're not going to get anywhere if the only alcohol on this table is going into my mouth and not yours," he slid a glass of amber liquid across the table to Evie, "How about we have a drink?"

Eveline resented the implication that she hadn't been drinking. Spot seemed to overestimate how much alcohol one actually needed. It wasn't her fault she was on her first drink by the time he had barreled through four others. Well, on a technicality she supposed it was, but she shouldn't have to increase her consumption rate to match his. He shook his glass in front of her to grab her attention, "Come on fairy godmother," Spot chuckled. Evie picked up the shot class in front of her and clinked it with Spot's, he brought his swiftly down to thank the table, back up to his mouth, and downed it in one. Evie followed suit, gagging slightly.

"Ugh, that's awful," she rubbed her watering eyes, "What is that?" Spot just laughed, rocking back on his chair, "It's good for you!"

"Why is it that most things people claim are good for you taste like they might kill you?"

"Puts hair on your chest."

"Exactly what I've been wanting, a winter coat. Fairies tend to have low body temperatures. They, they should give us this instead of vitamins. It would save them millions on our flight suits. They're built for flying, in the air." Evie shouted over the noise of the bar.

"'Nother," Spot cried back motioning to the row of shots in front of Evie. Evie cheered with Spot again gagging down the burning whiskey. Spot laughed at her face, "Well, I can't imagine what you drink where you're from."

"They don't really let us drink much when we're working. Absolute focus, absolutely always," she furrowed her brow mimicking the headmistress.

"Can't imagine that here. Everyone drinks." Spots eyes went dark for a minute, "Though I suppose I can't imagine not needing to. Here 'nother."

"Ugh, no I can't." She shook her head profusely back and forth.

"'Course you can," he chuckled, "last one, promise." She couldn't help but laugh back. She barely remembered the last time she was able to sit and have a drink. Her eyes sparked, a familiar oh fuck it feeling creeping over her, "Alright, alright, I'll keep company."

Evie slammed what she was thinking was her sixth shot back on the table to see the room spinning in around her. Spot was smiling at her and talking animatedly with his hands, "So me and Race start running, and this copper's coming after us, and Race goes, 'I knew I seen your face, I've seen your picture on your wife's nightstand.'"

Evie couldn't help but chuckle at their antics, "And was it true?"

"Was he screwing the wife ya mean?" She nodded back, "Nah, Race isn't much with the ladies, but the pig didn't know that." Spot threw his head back with laughter, thinking about Race pelvic thrusting towards the officer. Spot reached up to adjust his newsboy cap and leaned over the table towards Evie. For a second she felt like his eyes were staring right at her, but not seeing her at all. He shook his himself slightly as if he was shrugging off a chill, "Come on, they're playing my song."

He grabbed Evie's hand and spun her to the dance floor. She swayed, light headed from the booze and the noise. Spot reached down and pulled her to him by the small of her back, clutched her left hand in his right and they took off around the floor. Spot was somehow managing to have the jump up and down, spin in circles, and move around the dance floor among the other pairings. He was practically screaming to be heard over the music, "It's a slip-jig!" Evie strained to hear him, "A what?" Spot just smirked, "SLIP-JIG," he shouted again, keeping an unmatchable pace across the room, and twirling with her, "So, still think I'm a wank?"

Evie leaned in, "Huh?" She pulled back, out of breath and red in the face, "a what?"

"A wank, a wanker, an arsehole. I'm asking if you still think that any woman would be out of her mind to, oh I don't know, have a dance with me?"

"Less of an arsehole, more of a wank."

"So you're going to get us back together?" Spot led Evie off the dance floor. Evie clutched his hand with both of hers and followed behind him. He leaned over his shoulder, "Think you can do it?"

She shook her head, "Doesn't work like that! Too easy!"

He grabbed his jacket off their table and turned to Evie, "Ready to cut out," she nodded eagerly. He tossed a few coins to the bar tender and led her out into the night. The cool air hit them as a relief to the stuffy interior.

"So how does it work?"

Evie sighed, leaning into the wind, "We're like assistants. I can advise you, help you, guide you, but ultimately it comes down to you to decide if the magic is … permanent I guess. Which no magic ever actually is, because everything is impermanent. Theory of magic class, aced it!" She glanced at Spot's wrinkled face, "No clue what I'm talking about, tangent, sorry. So, in your file it says you lead a crew of paper boys?"

"Well that makes it sound like I'm taking 'em on an educational tour of the city." Spot adopted a very proper voice and stance, running in front of her, "On your right here you'll see alleyway ya might get yourself soaked in, on the left is thanks for pouring yah shit here lane, oh and that street over there is don't fuck with our territory street. You do not want to go over there." He ran back towards her smiling, "This place isn't exactly the nicest little piece of sunshine, okay? I'm the king of the Brooklyn newsies, the title stands for a reason."

"Then the mission stands: a queen for the king." The fabric around her seemed to shimmer a bit and the spell faded. Spot frowned at the re-emergence of what was some of the most ridiculous clothing he'd ever seen. Not as ridiculous as the corset Becca tried to lace herself into though. That thing was a nightmare.

Evie just laughed at Spot's face. "Right yes, a little magic coming up," she rubbed her hands back and forth faster and faster, until she lifted them above her, causing sparks to fall on her head. She shimmered and then blended in once more.

"Subtle."

"Right." Eveline just continued to giggle, "Sorry, drunk." Spot just laughed with her in the alleyway for a moment, until they continued their walk home.

Spot led her up the staircase. Most, if not all, of the boys were asleep. They entered into Spot's room, sitting on his bed. "You can sleep here tonight," Spot whispered, "I'll sleep with the boys."

"No, no, I'll fly back."

"I don't think you should drink and fly."

"Honestly, I'll be fine. It's really not that far, ten minutes or so."

"Don't argue. I'm proper drunk, and you're my assistant. So, you're going to assist me by sleeping here until you are sober enough to do sober people.. time..people things."

"Right. Good argument."

"Right. We'll strategize tomorrow."

"Night."

"Good night." Spot stood stiffly and left the room. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept with the other newsboys. Again he craved something more, but hope was something he didn't really have time for. His head felt blurry from the alcohol. It had to he thought amusedly; he believed he had a fairy godmother. A fairy godmother who could help him get Becca back, then he could marry her, love her forever.

The alcohol twisted in his stomach. Spot jerked, then moved swiftly to the toilets to vomit into the bowl. This seemed to becoming a nightly routine for him: puking up copious amounts of liquor. He wiped the back of his had across his mouth and navigated his way back to the cot, falling into it. His hand slid underneath the pillow, reaching out for something familiar, but finding nothing. He left his arm there out of habit, and fell asleep, but didn't dream.


End file.
